


when summer comes

by gly13



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Break Up, Getting Back Together, M/M, Non-Chronological, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-06 22:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19072045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gly13/pseuds/gly13
Summary: As his final year of high school draws to a close and university approaches, it’s all Taeyong can do to cling to the possibility of happiness once the year ends and try to forget about the boy who broke his heart.





	when summer comes

**Author's Note:**

> okay so i was procrastinating studying for my exams and so spent two days writing this instead
> 
> WARNING: there are two scenes which feature a panic attack, i don't really go into detail but they are there and they do happen
> 
> im not sure if i really need to say this but just in case i do: i do not own city127, that is an nct 127 song
> 
> ive only very briefly proof-read this and im also very tired so there are probably grammatical errors sorry
> 
> pls ignore how this fic is 100% me projecting and enjoy!

 

_ I’ll be happy when school ends and summer is here. _

\- Taeyong’s mantra throughout the school year, the argument in his head whenever anyone tells him to take a break, whenever it gets too much.

_ I won’t have worries. I’ll have time. Time I can spend with Johnny. _

Because he’s seen horribly little of his boyfriend in the past year, too lost in the facts swimming around his head that he tries to make sense of, tries to get down on paper. He turns off his phone for hours each night, throws it to the furthest corner of the room, knowing that if Johnny texted he would forsake everything else just to speak to him. But he cannot afford that distraction, that lapse of concentration.

_ If I can make it through a year of being unhappy, I can be the happiest I’ve ever been. _

And clinging to ghosts of what might be is what keeps him going. Plans for his future push him through his present, keep him going through the long nights and the blurry words in textbooks, push him to sunrise, when he can finally collapse on his bed, exhaustion taking him before he can even turn his phone back on.

**Three missed calls: Johnny <333.**

 

**___**

 

Taeyong is lost and confused.

Lugging a bulky rucksack and suitcase at least half his size around a campus whose pamphlet left him feeling excited and with an urge to explore, but feels daunting and scary in reality. It’s too big, too new. 

The map they’d given him, printed on a flimsy sheet of paper, is difficult to read and impossible to understand. So he’s been wandering around unfamiliar ground for almost half an hour, arms aching, feet sore, and sweating heavily. He grimaces at the thought of his appearance and how much of a mess he must look.

He slugs his rucksack off of his back, placing it gently on the floor and wincing at the loud  _ pop _ his back makes as it is relieved of the weight. He slumps onto his suitcase, to take at least a bit of weight off his feet as he looks dejectedly around the vicinity, looking for something that might tell him where he is, or someone who looks friendly enough to help him find his way.

He has half a mind to give up, call his parents and beg to come home. To forfeit his scholarship and let them give it to someone who can read a fucking map, because they obviously deserve the place far more than him. 

Then he sees a sign.

A big, fat, neon green sign with  _ N  _ printed on it in white, emboldened font. It’s plastered on the side of an ugly red brick building which Taeyong’s brain instantly matches to the one on the university’s website that he’d chosen as his accommodation over five months ago. A huff of relief escapes his lips and he wipes the sweat off his forehead, gathers his belongings back up and starts the treck to his new home.

He heaves his luggage into the elevator and stares determinedly at the ground, desperately avoiding eye contact with the girl and her parents who trail in after him. Between them, they carry two suitcases each the size of Taeyong’s and a number of bags containing who knows what.

Taeyong issues a silent prayer that the weight limit will not be exceeded and tries to ignore the pang in his chest that no one is there to help him carry  _ his  _ stuff. His parents couldn’t spare the time off work and Yuta’s move-in day isn’t for another few days.  _ They’d be here if they could  _ he tells himself.

They continue up to the third floor, where the girl and her parents get off, chatter ensuing between them as soon as they are past the doors. Taeyong lets out a sigh as the doors close again and the elevator continues up to the fifth floor. His floor.

The doors seem to open painfully slowly, creaking open as if to draw out Taeyong’s nerves as far as they will go.

He moves out into the hallway, with its peeling paint and the distinct smell of weed. It’s not the smell he associates with home or safety and it jolts him, puts him on edge. He pushes the unease down as he continues down the corridor, voices of parents and his new neighbours filling the space.

In front of the door marked  _ 513, _ he draws to a stop.

He can hear the faintest trace of a Billie Eilish song filtering through the solid wood of the door and feels the corners of his mouth upturn, and some of the fear in his chest is dispelled.

He fumbles around in the pocket of his jacket for a moment, fingers navigating their way through packs of gum, his phone, earphones, and whatever else he seems to have in his pockets before they clasp around a piece of jagged metal. He fishes out his dorm key, already attached to his Pikachu keyring.

With difficulty, he manages to unlock and push open the door.

He’s greeted by the sight of a modest room, two twin beds pushed against opposite walls and two desks between them. There are shelves lining the walls and they don’t look nearly stable enough to support the sheer amount of stuff his roommate seems to have arranged onto them. Taeyong surveys his roommate’s collection of books and hats, eyes quickly falling to the Snorlax plushie resting on the bed he’s clearly claimed before moving to the man himself, sat at his desk.

And with Pikachu still dangling from his hand, Taeyong thinks that they might just get along.

 

**___**

 

Mrs Lee’s voice blurs into an incoherent drone, tuned out as Taeyong’s head falls ungracefully onto his desk. His eyes slip closed as his cheek presses against the cold wooden surface, but the discomfort is not enough to pull him from the exhaustion that seizes his entire being, urging him closer to sleep.

He counts on Johnny’s giant form in front of him to keep him hidden from his teacher’s eyeline as he takes the few minutes he can before first period to get some rest before it’s back to calculus and algebraic expansion.

It’s only when he hears a voice that is distinctly not Mrs Lee’s, one that he very much recognises - would recognise anywhere - do his eyes open to find Johnny is missing from his own desk. Instead, Johnny is stood at the front of the class, signature smile on his face. And, upon first glance, it may seem normal, it may seem fine, Taeyong knows that it’s not.

And he might be tired and he might not be at complete full mental capacity, but he knows Johnny better than anything else. So he can tell that Johnny’s smile is slightly off, that there’s something sad about it.

He tries to make eye contact with his boyfriend, but Johnny avoids it, definitely purposefully.

Something claws at his chest and his phone feels like a heavy weight in his pocket. He sits up straight, now fully alert, to listen to what Johnny has to say.

“Okay so,” Johnny starts off, and Taeyong can hear the slight shake beneath his words, even if no one else can, “I didn’t really want to make too big of a deal of this, but Mrs Lee insisted - and you guys know how she is: won’t take no for an answer.”

His words break off into laughter, which the rest of the class joins in with, because they can’t hear how forced it sounds - but Taeyong can.

“So as you guys know, I’m originally from Chicago-”

Someone, probably Yuta, breaks him off to yell  _ “Chicago~!”  _ loudly, but Taeyong doesn’t pay his friend any mind, too focused on how uncomfortable Johnny looks.

“Yeah, Chicago!” Johnny says half-heartedly, and their classmates cheer along with him. “Anyway, I don’t wanna drag this out but my family is moving back there. The day after graduation.”

Taeyong’s stomach drops through the floor. He remains silent and in shock as the class erupts in noises that express their displeasure at losing the school’s pride Suh Johnny. His chest constricts with a multitude of emotions and it’s all he can do to keep breathing.

Mrs Lee quietens the class and Johnny continues to speak, some stupid speech about how much he’ll miss everyone and how he had such a great time in Korea and how he promises to keep in touch.

But his words all sound like they’re being spoken to Taeyong as though he’s underwater, struggling to breathe, struggling to make out what he’s saying, struggling to stay afloat in the mess that is his mind.

Johnny. Leaving. His Johnny. Leaving him. Johnny. In another country. Johnny.

Gone.

The world is muffled around him and he must look a right sight, hair dishevelled, dark circles hanging under his eyes, and mouth agape. But he feels so far detached from the classroom, so detached from his body that he doesn’t even notice when Johnny sits back down and Mrs Lee resumes talking. He doesn’t notice as the rest of the class pick up their bags and begin to make their way to the door.

It’s only when the bell cracks loudly, ripping through the water around him, does he startle back into his body and out of his stupor.

Johnny is already at the door, surrounded by a dozen of their classmates talking with him about something. Taeyong scrambles to grab his bag from the floor and jolts to the door, banging into a number of desks on the way, but he can’t even feel it when his mind is so fixated on Johnny.

He calls his boyfriend’s name, but it gets lost in the mix of others doing the same. So he squares his shoulders and elbows his way through the crowd. His hand finds Johnny’s wrist and he clasps around it tightly, pulling Johnny to a stop with him. Their peers turn to complain, but stop once they realise who he is. Someone calls out to “ _ let the lovebirds have a moment alone,”  _ and they all move off to their next class.

Johnny looks at him with something unreadable in his eyes and, for a moment Taeyong is thrown. He could always read Johnny before. Always. He shakes the feeling and pulls Johnny down the hallway and into an empty classroom, closing the door behind them.

Johnny sighs, and it’s cold and Taeyong gets that feeling again.

“What is it, Taeyong?” Taeyong frowns at the lack of a nickname. “We’re gonna be late for maths.”

“Maths can wait,” Taeyong says, voice more steady than he thought it would be, “it’s not as important as this.”

“Since when?” Johnny mutters bitterly, under his breath, but Taeyong feels the words hit him square in the chest as though they’d been shouted.

Silence hangs awkwardly between them for a moment, during which Johnny refuses to meet Taeyong’s eyes and Taeyong feels the pit in his stomach grow impossibly deeper.

“Chicago? Johnny? Seriously?” Taeyong breaks it, unable to mask any of the hurt he’s feeling. “You’re leaving the fucking country and just didn’t bother to tell me?”

Johnny’s head snaps up. Taeyong recoils at the raw anger in his eyes.

“And when exactly was I supposed to tell you, Taeyong?” Johnny’s voice is loud, sharp in Taeyong’s ears. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in months and whenever I do see you, you look dead on your feet and you don’t pay any attention to anything I say.”

“I would pay attention to that and you know it.”

“No! I don’t! All you talk about anymore, all you  _ think  _ about is exams and studying. We haven’t had a proper conversation in weeks because you spend all of your free time in the library, looking ready to pass out.”

“Well, I’m sorry that not all of our families can afford a full ride to a college of our choice. I’m so sorry that some of us actually have to work.”

It’s a low blow, but Taeyong only half regrets it as it leaves his mouth, and that’s not enough for him to apologise.

Johnny’s face becomes less angry, but more closed off, stoic. This is worse. This is scarier. Taeyong has never been scared of Johnny before.

But Taeyong doesn’t let himself shrink back and glares at Johnny with as much force as he can manage, which isn’t much. He finds it hard to be angry at Johnny.

The silence is suffocating and Taeyong can feel his resolve wither more the longer he looks at Johnny.

“Are you really going the day after graduation?” Taeyong asks, and his voice breaks halfway through.

Johnny’s gaze softens, opens up again, but Taeyong doesn’t see it as his head drops to his chest. He breathes heavily, trying to swallow back the tears that threaten to fall.

“Yeah,” Johnny says, and his voice sounds so much more like the Johnny that Taeyong knows that he can’t help the sob that rips itself from his throat.

Taeyong feels a familiar hand flat against his back and lets Johnny pull him into his embrace. He goes pliantly, melts into the plain of Johnny’s chest and gives up on trying to hold back his sobs. He feels a wetness spread at the top of his head, where Johnny has pressed his own face into Taeyong’s hair. Taeyong’s arms clutch tightly around Johnny’s torso, as though he might disappear if he doesn’t hold him tightly enough.

They stay like that, shaking, in the emptiness of the classroom for a long time.

“Don’t go,” Taeyong speaks into Johnny’s chest once their sobs have subsided.

“I have to, Tae,” Johnny says softly, stroking the back of Taeyong’s head with gentle fingers.

“At least wait until after summer. We can spend time together during summer.”

Taeyong trails off when he feels, more than hears, Johnny sigh.

He pulls away from the hug to look at Johnny, who has clear exasperation in his eyes.

“What?” Taeyong says cautiously.

“It’s just,” Johnny runs a hand through his hair, “you’ve been talking about this summer like it’s your only chance at happiness, Tae. Every time I ask you to spend time with me you tell me that we’ll have time in the summer, we can do it in summer. But our relationship isn’t just for the summer.”

“I know it’s not-”

“So why won’t you give us any time now?”

Taeyong stumbles over his words, thrown off by the tiredness, the irritation in Johnny’s voice.

Finally, he settles on, “I need to study, Johnny. I need that scholarship. If I don’t get it-”

“You can’t go to uni, yeah, I know.”

Silence again.

“And what about us? When you leave.”

The question is open, ambiguous, but Taeyong knows Johnny will understand what he means. He always does.

Johnny’s eyes are looking somewhere behind him, and he takes a deep breath before he starts speaking, as though the words will pain him.

“I think we should break up.”

And just like that, the world’s axis seems off. The air is too hot and his uniform is too tight and the walls are too close but Johnny is too far away.

“No.” 

The word falls from his lips before he can even register it, like a single raindrop before a storm.

“No.” With more force this time. “No, we can do long-distance. If anyone can make it, it’s us. We have technology and love and- and…”

He trails off when Johnny shakes his head. It’s a small movement, nothing more than slight turn in either direction but the magnitude of what it means falls like a weight onto Taeyong’s chest.

“Why?” His voice is desperate as he searches for answers and his eyes burn with the effort of holding back his new onslaught of tears.

“Tae,” Johnny’s voice is breaking, too, now, “you didn’t have time for me when we were in the same country. I doubt you’ll have time for me when I’m on the other side of the world.”

A million protests, a million arguments rise on Taeyong’s tongue, but Johnny extinguishes them all with another shake of his head.

And that’s it, he guesses. Four years of friendship and a three-year relationship. Gone. Just like that. With the shake of a head.

“I love you, Tae. And I’ll miss you. But it wouldn’t work.”

Johnny’s voice is barely above a whisper, and Taeyong struggles to hear it, his ears filled with some high-pitched noise.

Johnny turns to leave, looks over his shoulder one last time before he walks through the door. It swings shut behind him, and the movement seems to shake the desks, seems to shake the classroom, seems to shake the very foundation of Taeyong’s world.

“I love you, too,” he whispers into nothing, to no one.

And that final remnant of their relationship dissipates quietly into the air, as though there was no point of it being said it the first place.

 

And despite the sadness raking at his mind, Taeyong refuses to acknowledge it.

He has other things to focus on. He can’t stop studying just because Johnny left him. The sadness can wait until summer. He’ll let himself feel it then, he promises himself.

So the last few months of high school pass but he feels absent from everything. Like he’s floating somewhere above himself, not quite feeling the pen in his fingers or hearing the ticking of the clock in the exam hall.

_ But it’s fine _ , he tells himself,  _ it’ll get better in summer. _

_ Things will feel real again in summer. _

 

**___**

 

Taeyong’s fingers tap out a chaotic rhythm against his laptop’s keyboard, praying he’ll be able to decipher his notes later. His gaze is focused on the board at the front of the lecture hall, and his eyes are squinting with the strain of trying to make out the words written there. 

‘The curse of Professor Choi’s tiny font’ that all the seniors in his department had warned him about had seemed laughable, a routine hazing perhaps when he had picked his classes but now is the literal bane of his existence.

Professor Choi dismisses them just as Taeyong finishes typing his last word and slumps back in his chair, a sigh of relief leaving his mouth. His eyes quickly scan over his document and another sigh - this time of exasperation - escapes him when he sees the sheer number of red squiggly lines littered about the page.

He saves the document and places his laptop into his bag before making his way down the stairs. As he does so, he turns his phone back on.

**2 messages: doie <3**

He clicks on the notification and chuckles when he sees the eloquently worded messages his friend has sent him.

**From: doie <3 [12:43]**

chickkennn

**From: doie <3 [12:52]**

pls

Doyoung must really want that chicken if he’d added a please, Taeyong thinks with a laugh. He’s reminded of their first texts to each other, when they’d first started living together, with near perfect punctuation and formal address and promises to pay each other back on whatever money was spent on anything. They’ve come a long way, he thinks fondly. But he supposes that two and a half years of sharing a bathroom would do that to anyone.

He’s stepping through the door of Doyoung’s favourite chicken take-out place when a hand comes down on his shoulder and he lets out a strangled shriek.

He turns and is met by Jaehyun, with a shit-eating grin taking over his face.

Jaehyun doesn’t apologise for nearly giving Taeyong a heart attack and instead says, “you getting lunch for Dons?”

Taeyong musters him a glare without any real malice behind it and pushes the hand off of his shoulder.

“I am. And you’re welcome to join us, but you’re paying now.”

“What? Why?” Jaehyun wails.

“You’re paying for him because he’s your boyfriend and you’re paying for me because you just took five years off my life span.”

“Yeah, to be fair that is quite a lot considering how old you are. Probably only have like six years left now. Sorry, man.”

“Brat.”

They buy the chicken and Taeyong makes Jaehyun carry it back to his and Doyoung’s dorm. It’s a different building to their first year and they’ve been in it for almost a year and a half now. It’s only marginally bigger, but the wallpaper isn’t mouldy and they have sturdier shelves for the unnecessary amounts of miscellaneous items they’ve gathered over the years.

Doyoung is slumped in his bed, laptop open and the canned laughter of an American sitcom coming from his headphones. He turns to look at them when the door opens and a smile spreads across his face at the sight of Jaehyun but grows even wider when his eyeline falls to the bags of chicken in his hands, leaving Jaehyun to pout as Doyoung makes grabby hands at them.

Taeyong laughs, moving to drop his bag on his own bed. He opens his laptop again and begins the arduous task of sorting through his lecture notes.

Jaehyun and Doyoung eat their own chicken, sat side by side, chatting about something or other.

“You’ll tune in, too, right, TY?” Jaehyun calls suddenly and Taeyong’s head snaps up.

“What,” he says dumbly.

“NCT Night Night,” Doyoung says slowly, like he’s explaining something very simple to someone very stupid. It’s a tone Doyoung uses a lot with Taeyong.

Taeyong’s eyes widen when he registers the words and his mouth shoots into a wide smile.

“You found someone to co-host?!”

“Yes!” Jaehyun squeals.

Taeyong also squeals, leaving Doyoung to roll his eyes at the two of them in fond exasperation.

“Of course I’ll tune in!”

 

**___**

 

Taeyong stays true to his word. He’s sat at his desk, actual portable radio next to him for that authentic, vintage vibe you just can’t get with a phone. He’s outlining an essay on the different periods of classical music and which one most resembles mainstream music of today (hint: not baroque) and he’s waiting for the ads to finish so he can finally hear the debut of Jaehyun’s dream to host his very own radio show.

He’s alone in the room, Doyoung having accompanied Jaehyun to the on-campus studio for support.

He finishes his outline and gets to work on his introduction, zoning out from the world around him as he concentrates.

It’s only once he’s midway through his first paragraph, does Taeyong notice Jaehyun’s voice filling the room and he snaps back to reality to realise that he’s missed a good portion of the first part of Night Night.

It’s fine, he assures himself, and, rather than panicking about being a bad friend, he tries to catch up on the story Jaehyun’s telling. It’s something from a listener about her worries for her first year at the university. Taeyong shoots Jaehyun a quick text complimenting him on how well he expresses the feeling of the message, knowing he’ll check his phone at the next ad break.

“Ah, that was a very touching story from,” he reads out an ID Taeyong finds confusing. “Do you have any advice for her on how to handle being so far away from home?”

“Well,” his co-host starts, “I do know a thing or two about being far away from home.”

The pair of them chuckle but Taeyong suddenly can’t breathe.

He knows that voice. It’s deeper and maybe slightly more accented, but he’d know that voice anywhere. Even more so now he’s offering advice, speaking in calm tones and helping this anonymous person through their problems.

It’s so  _ him. _

 

**___**

 

“It’s okay, Yongie,” Johnny says, voice a gentle murmur in his ear. “You’re fine. You're fine.”

But Taeyong doesn’t  _ feel  _ fine.

He feels anxious and scared and jittery because exams are too soon and the content is just  _ so much. _ It’s too much and he’s too stupid to understand it, no matter how many hours he puts in.

He says this all, pushes the words out along with the rushed, shallow breaths of air he only just manages to take in.

And Johnny shushes him, tries to spread some of his classic confidence to the boy with a severe lack of it through the hand on his back stroking carefully in relaxing movements, coaxing his breaths back to regularity.

Taeyong’s eyes are sore and they burn, because tears aren’t forming - can’t form - anymore. So his sobs are dry and ragged as they wrack through his small figure. He’s cradled into Johnny’s chest, curled up tightly, as though he could just stop existing if he made himself small enough.

Johnny holds him through it, like he always does.

And there’s no judgement in the way Johnny holds him together even as his mind convinces him to fall apart. Johnny holds him until his breaths are even and his shaking is only minimal.

Johnny presses a kiss to the crown of his head, and doesn’t force him to look up. He knows Taeyong doesn’t want to. He always knows.

“You’ve got this, baby.”

And despite his state of mental disarray, Taeyong still finds his heart warming at the pet name.

“And do you know why? Because you’re  _ Lee fucking Taeyong!” _

Taeyong giggles through a sob.

“And that might not seem like much to you, but trust me. That is the highest compliment I could possibly give you.”

“Even more than calling me a Suh Johnny?” Taeyong asks teasingly, finding the courage to look up into Johnny’s eyes and seeing nothing but care and pride there.

“Even more than that,” Johnny promises. “You’ll get through this, and you’ll be amazing because you’re you. Because you’re you and that’s the best thing you can be.”

His words aren’t complicated, they’re simple in their reassurance. But it’s the conviction with which he says them that causes Taeyong to believe him, that allows him to think that maybe Johnny’s right.

Taeyong tilts his head up, so his face is pressed against the column of Johnny’s neck and he mutters words of gratitude against his boyfriend’s skin but Johnny hushes him.

“No thanks, just self-belief and love. Got it?”

Taeyong smiles against Johnny’s neck.

“Got it.”

 

**___**

 

“You’re here and there’s no turning back. There’s no running away now. And if you had the courage to come this far, you have the courage to keep going. I believe in you. You should, too.”

“Wow, very wise words, John-D.”

“No wisdom, just truth, Jae-D.”

It’s him. It’s him. It’s him.

And Taeyong’s mind goes blank, solely fixated on Johnny’s voice. He can’t even distinguish what he’s saying because all he can hear is his voice, with its lilting cadence and unashamed, brash but somehow caring timbre and every feeling he’d stashed away in that summer three years ago comes crashing back to him.

Taeyong hears but does not listen to the rest of the broadcast, too caught up in the whirlwind of chaos dancing about his head to register anything but the ending comments.

“And to finish our first ever broadcast, a song requested by a very special person: Ariana Grande’s  _ breathin’ _ . Thank you all for listening. We’ll see you soon.”

“Night night.”

Johnny’s back.

 

**___**

 

Summer finally arrives, and coming out of his final exam feels as though the last string holding Taeyong up has been cut, leaving him free to collapse into a mess of limbs.

And that’s just what he does.

The minute he gets home, he falls on his bed, still in his school clothes, and sleeps for fifteen hours straight. The only thing that stops him from sleeping longer is his mother shaking his shoulder to make sure he hasn’t actually died. He takes the brief break to change into sleep clothes, a loose white t-shirt and shorts, before promptly resuming his interrupted sleep to sleep a further thirteen hours.

Graduation is a rather dull affair: the teachers’ speeches are unmoving and repetitive. Taeyong turned down the offer to give a speech, choosing instead to focus on exams, and he’s hit with a pang of regret, because he would have at least made it shorter than the boy who drags out his retelling of a story from the school trip last year for far too long.

It all feels anti-climactic, as the culmination of his four years of gruelling hard work is dismissed in a few hours of impersonal poetry.

None of it feels worth it, he supposes, and the day ends with him feeling slightly hollow.

Nevertheless, he’s glad to have made it. It’s finally summer.

When he receives his results and thusly his scholarship acceptance e-mail, he knows he’s meant to feel overjoyed and like it’s all paid off, but that sinking hollow feeling doesn’t leave his chest. He does his best to mirror his parents’ and Yuta’s proud, giddy smiles, but it feels heavy on his face.

He spends the day after graduation in bed, sleeping, mostly, but also just lying there for periods at a time and missing the boy he used to call when he couldn’t make sense of his emotions.

It’s a strange feeling, this emptiness.

Usually, his mind is frantic, disorderly and his chest is full with a dense fluster. So this lack of  _ anything _ is disturbing, disconcerting. Suddenly he doesn’t have anything to do, doesn’t have a purpose as he reaches the goal he’d been eyeing for so long but finds it utterly devoid of the triumph he had thought he’d feel.

And, for moments at a time, Taeyong wishes he were back in his state of panic, just so he could feel  _ something _ . When he’s like that for too long, he catches himself, reminds himself of how bad those times feel, tells him to stop moping.

But he always finds himself slipping again.

He scrolls aimlessly through Instagram, ignoring the stabs of pain at all the photos his classmates are posting of them at the airport, captions all some variation of  _ we’ll miss you johnny!!! keep in touch <33 _

His phone dings obnoxiously with messages from Yuta, which he dutifully ignores, leaving them unread and unanswered.

**From: mountain man [13:02]**

you can still make it tae

**From: mountain man [13:02]**

his flight doesnt leave for another few hours

**From: mountain man [13:07]**

he wants you here even if he wont admit it

But Johnny’s always been very direct about what he wants, unperturbed by embarrassment or judgement. And Johnny’s the one who left, who is leaving. If he wanted Taeyong there, he’d say so.

**From: mountain man [13:14]**

ffs why are the both of you so stubborn

**From: mountain man [13:15]**

is this really how youre gonna leave things??

**From: mountain man [13:19]**

you might never see him again tae

**From: mountain man [13:21]**

TAEYONG

**From: mountain man [13:42]**

i give up

And for the next three months, the summer Taeyong was supposed to spend creating treasured memories and being happy, he spends trying to forget that beautiful boy with his stupid grin and loud laughter, who took his worries away with a single chaste kiss.

He goes through all the motions of a break-up, after procrastinating accepting it for so long, but it doesn’t make him feel any better.

He dyes his hair a raucous shade of platinum blond and gets helix piercings. He deletes Johnny’s number, and unfollows him on all the social media platforms he has. He eats pint after pint of ice cream and rescinds back into his fourteen-year-old self, listening to MCR and Kelly Clarkson songs, crying at soppy rom-coms and booing at their portrayals of love because  _ it doesn’t exist, you liars! _

He writes so many trashy break-up songs, loud and disorganised clutters of sound, overlayed with raw, bitter, unedited words of heartbreak rapped in a gravelly voice. They’re so different from the well-crafted pieces he presented in his portfolio that he dedicated all his time to that he starts to doubt his own skill. 

He starts to doubt that he can ever make decent music - music he can be proud of - again, when most of the time he feels nothing and the only time he feels anything, they’re ugly, harrowing emotions.

He tries, in a last-ditch attempt to make  _ something, _ to make music with the emptiness.

Plain, lo-fi beats of toned white noise that aim to resemble that gap in his gut. The songs kind of hurt his ears, but the emptiness hurts his heart, so he supposes he succeeded.

The summer is long, but not in a good way.

It stretches itself out until the one thing Taeyong had once wanted more than anything becomes the thing he wants to end, more than anything.

 

**___**

 

First day of high school, and Taeyong’s heart is nearly in his throat with how much exhilaration is coursing through him.

He gets to school far too early and walks around the grounds for a while, marvelling at how much bigger it is than his middle school. He tries to force himself to walk slower to get rid of his nervous energy but he can’t.

He’s on his fifth lap of the school when the school bell rings and he suddenly has no time to navigate the halls and find his classroom. He skids down the hallway and into the door marked  **1-A** and makes eye contact with his homeroom teacher, Mrs Lee, for the first time. He offers her a sheepish smile and she nods with understanding, gesturing at the only empty desk in the classroom.

Third row, right in the middle.

He can see Yuta already seated in the back corner of the classroom and returns his bright smile with one of his own.

He seats himself down and Mrs Lee begins to write stuff down on the board: little, essential things they need to know about when assemblies are and how lunch works.

But Taeyong can’t see the board.

His view is obstructed by the back of the head of the boy in front of him, who is far taller than anyone else in the classroom, even when sitting down. _ No wonder this was the only empty seat _ , Taeyong thinks.

Taeyong tries shifting around, moving his neck from side to side to get a better angle where he can see the board from, but no such luck exists. The boy’s hair is puffy and longer than anyone else’s. From every awkward position Taeyong arranges his neck into, the boy’s head somehow blocks large portions of the board.

Gingerly, he reaches out a hand and taps on the boy’s shoulder.

The boy whips his head around and Taeyong is caught off-guard by blinding smile that is shot his way. For a moment he forgets why he got the boy’s attention in the first place before he collects himself and proffers possibly the meekest smile he has.

“I-I’m sorry, but I can’t really, um, see the board.” 

It sounds more like a question than anything else, but the boy seems to understand what Taeyong means to say and fixes him with yet another grin.  _ Does he just give these out for free on the regular? _

“Okay,” he says, and his voice is warm but excitable, even as he whispers, “I’ll shift to the left; you shift to the right.”

He nods his head in a solid motion, makes an ‘okay’ signal with his fingers as though they’ve just hatched some sort of secret spy plan and makes to turn back around in his chair when Taeyong decides he absolutely cannot hold back his laughter at the absurdity of it all and lets loose a giggle, too loud for the quiet of the classroom.

The boy seems shocked and, for a second, Taeyong is worried that he’s scared him off. But then the boy opens his mouth and his own thundering laughter comes tumbling out.

“Boys!” Mrs Lee scolds and the boy swivels back around in his chair.

“Sorry, my fault, Mrs Lee,” he tells her.

The boy moves as far left as he can in his chair.

Mrs Lee takes attendance and asks everyone to introduce themselves and say a fun fact about them. But Taeyong can’t think of any fun facts about himself - he doesn’t consider himself a very fun type of person.

He decides he’ll listen to his peers for inspiration and just hope something comes to him in time.

They move along the rows, starting from the front. Taeyong pays close attention to each person, storing away their names and facts so he’ll have something to talk to them about later.

When it’s the boy in front of him’s turn, though, he pays especially close attention.

“My name’s Suh Johnny,” the boy declares proudly, and Taeyong tests the syllables out silently on his tongue. Joh-nny. It’s a nice name. “And I am from Chicago, in America.”

Johnny pauses, a smug smile on his face as the class all make appropriate noises of wonder.

Taeyong’s so concentrated on what his classmates are saying, that he forgets to prepare something to say about himself and soon it’s his turn.

He stands up hesitantly and stumbles his way through a greeting, bowing stiffly.

He fumbles around for a bit, a mess of _ um _ ’s and  _ uh _ ’s. His fingers fiddle dangerously with the cuff of his expensive new blazer. His mind is blank, and he seems to have forgotten even the very base facts about himself.

“He has a very nice laugh,” Johnny states, very matter-of-factly.

That, in itself, causes Taeyong to giggle and Johnny looks pleased as their fellow peers chime in with agreement, a few even calling out that his laugh is cute. Taeyong thanks them, turning bashful under the attention and sits back down.

He waits until the girl two seats down from him is introducing herself before catching Johnny’s attention.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Johnny waves a dismissive hand. “It was just the truth, you do have a really nice laugh.”

 

**___**

 

Taeyong’s walking through campus with Doyoung, engaged in some petty debate about the proper way to make a fried egg when he spots them.

He recognises Jaehyun first, because he’s facing them and he waves before he realises who it is that his friend is speaking to.

But when he sees the head of puffy brown hair, inches above anyone else’s, something sinks in his gut.

The irony of it all almost makes him want to laugh, but instead pulls his face into some kind of weird, pained grimace. Johnny turns around to follow Jaehyun’s line of sight and the grin that was on his face is wiped off into a look of pure shock.

Johnny’s grown. He’s dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans, hair in his signature ‘effortlessly stunning’ look he always used to boast that he’d been  _ ‘rocking since birth’ _ . His skin is more tan than Taeyong remembers, and it seems to glow delicately in the mid-afternoon sun, though that might just be Taeyong’s eyes.

He feels something tug at his chest.

Taeyong’s hand stills in the air, where it’s still hovering awkwardly. Part of him wants to signal to Doyoung to fake a medical emergency, or pretend their apartment’s on fire so they can run and another part of him wants to march up to Johnny and Jaehyun and act unbothered and regal.

His decision is made for him by how Doyoung is far too enamoured with Jaehyun to notice the tension radiating from Taeyong and he walks quickly towards the pair, hand around Taeyong’s wrist dragging him along.

Taeyong has all of six seconds to mentally prepare before he’s thrown into what is sure to be a bedlam of emotions.

“Jae!” Taeyong greets, pointedly looking at Jaehyun, and only Jaehyun because, fuck Johnny had gotten even hotter in the past few years and Taeyong did not trust himself not to ogle if given the chance. “ _ Night Night  _ was so good! Your voice was so calming and relaxing I wanted to go to sleep straight after.”

“He’s lying; he was awake ‘til four like usual,” Doyoung says, with a petulant tone so typical of Doyoung.

In the corner of his eye, Taeyong could swear he sees Johnny’s frown deepen a little.

“I said  _ wanted _ to go to sleep, not  _ did _ .” Taeyong sticks his tongue out at his friend.

Truth was that he’d lay awake for far too long after  _ Night Night _ had finished, unsettled by the sudden reappearance of Johnny in his life, confused, maybe slightly terrified.

“Seriously, though,” Taeyong continues, “I really enjoyed listening; I’ve definitely become a fan.”

Jaehyun laughs, touched.

“Thanks, TY. Maybe we can play one of your songs on the next show?”

“Yes!” Doyoung chimes in and Taeyong laughs and makes a noise which isn’t positive or negative, but strange enough to send the three of them laughing again.

“But, I can’t take all the credit for the show,” Jaehyun says and Taeyong braces himself, “this is Suh Johnny, John-D, my co-host. He’s a photography major by day, radio DJ by night.”

Taeyong turns to face Johnny, for the first time in almost three years and wills the tightness in his chest to go away.

“Taeyong,” Johnny says, and Taeyong tries not to wince at how stiff he sounds, when his name used to fall from Johnny’s tongue so easily. It’s an icy contrast.

Taeyong inclines his head, suddenly not trusting himself to speak.

The air’s become stale, thick with discomfort and it’s clear Doyoung and Jaehyun have noticed it by the look they exchange.

“Oh,” Jaehyun says cautiously, “you two know each other?”

“Yeah,” Johnny answers.

It’s an ambiguous answer, and it’s clear by Johnny’s tone and the way his eyes never leave Taeyong’s that he doesn’t intend to continue. That he wants Taeyong to define what they are.

And Johnny doesn’t know this, because how could he, but university is Taeyong’s new start and he’s not going to jeopardise that by pulling on the thread to the past that might just unravel the entire person he’s built himself into.

“We went to the same high school.”

And it’s clear all of them know there’s more to it than that, but they don’t press and Taeyong is grateful for it. There’s something like disappointment in Johnny’s eyes, and Taeyong feels anger rising in his chest in response -  _ because what right does Johnny have to be disappointed? _ \- but he pushes it down, for the sake of his friends, for the sake of his new start.

“Yuta’s here, too,” Taeyong says, tone much lighter now in an effort to dispel some of the tension lingering in the air. A mutual friend. Common ground.

_ Take the olive branch _ .

“Yeah, I know. We kept in touch.” Johnny’s voice is blithe and it seems to settle Doyoung and Jaehyun, but Taeyong can hear the hardness beneath it and tries not to let it get to him. “He didn’t tell me you went here, too, though.”

The way he says it sounds so carefree on the surface, but Taeyong knows full-well it’s accusatory. He rises to the challenge with a seemingly sweet voice of his own, knowing that only Johnny’s ear are well-tuned to the bitchier undertones.

“It must’ve slipped his mind, you know he can be forgetful.” An airy laugh. “Especially now he’s dating Sicheng.”

_ You’re unimportant. _

Doyoung and Jaehyun agree, pitching in with their own stories about the forgetful Yuta.

And maybe it’s a little mean, but eighteen-year-old Taeyong had been too stressed to get closure. So that original resentment, although buried under years of distance, is still lurking at the back of his mind and seeps into each word he directs at Johnny.

_ And it’s fine _ , he tells himself,  _ because Johnny’s doing it, too. _

 

**___**

 

Ten, a close friend from Taeyong’s course, invites him to a party being thrown by a senior in the dance department whom Ten apparently knows well.

Doyoung can’t go, bed-ridden by flu and Jaehyun stays to look after him, the ever-dutiful boyfriend, so Taeyong gets ready with Ten, which means Ten has full control over his hair and make-up, which means he’s going full thot.

And Taeyong likes it, likes that Ten boosts his confidence with words of praise as he applies eyeliner and styles back Taeyong’s newly-dyed red hair. Taeyong likes the way Ten knows what’s best for him, has always known (even if he was a little persistent about it at first).

Taeyong owes a large part of the social confidence he’s gained since coming to university to Ten and Ten owes a large part of his newfound tact and emotional coherency to Taeyong, who is ever-willing to listen to him vent and offer a reassuring presence and baked goods.

They support each other: Ten drags Taeyong away from the books for a well-deserved break and Taeyong eases Ten away from the drama.

Which is why Taeyong has no problem entrusting his entire look for the night into Ten’s hands. Especially on a night he desperately needs a distraction from the constant thoughts of Johnny.

He easily slips into the too-tight leather trousers and heeled black boots with silver chains wrapped around them. He doesn’t raise his eyebrows at the thin, sheer white shirt, with a deep cut down the neckline and a belt that looks perhaps just too much like a harness. He doesn’t ask whether the black leather jacket Ten instructs him to wear might be just a little too excessive with the amount of leather he’s already wearing.

Ten doesn’t appreciate his artistic visions being questioned.

And Taeyong is right to put his trust in Ten, as he levels the pair of them in the mirror and smirks at his look.

“Deadly,” Ten whispers in his ear, and Taeyong giggles, but it looks downright wicked in his current outfit. Ten joins him in laughing.

“Let’s go break some boys’ hearts.”

 

The party is already loud when they arrive, strolling through the door with twin smiles and their arms linked. Something with too much bass shakes the walls as they head immediately for the kitchen.

Taeyong can’t pre-game - too much of a lightweight - so they settle for whatever cheap beer the hosts decided to stock.

They dance together, make rowdy conversations with people they know, revel in the eyes fixed to their bodies as they move languidly about the dance floor.

It’s a rather standard party until Ten spots some guy he’s been eyeing for a while and shouts,  _ “wish me luck!” _ in Taeyong’s ear before moving towards him.

Taeyong giggles as Ten’s conquest - Kun, he thinks his name is - blushes when Ten throws his arms around his neck, a sultry smirk playing on his lips.

Taeyong dances alone, the alcohol giving him enough confidence to work the floor by himself, shooting coy smiles at boys who stare at him just a bit too long. One of his favourite songs starts thrumming through the speakers, just as he spots Ten latch his mouth on to Kun’s neck and Taeyong sends his friend a silent cheer.

He’s scanning around the room for someone he knows to dance with him, now that Ten will most definitely not be returning when he spots just the person he’d come here to forget.

Johnny’s standing at the side, just off the designated ‘dance floor’, surrounded by people Taeyong doesn’t recognise, and they’re all laughing loudly at something Johnny’s just said. Taeyong can tell because Johnny’s sipping from the beer bottle in his hand with that same self-satisfied smug he’s always worn when he’s made a funny joke.

Something ugly crawls through Taeyong’s gut.

He keeps dancing, something close to jealousy but not quite directing each of his movements. He wants to pull his eyes away, continue to live apathetic to whatever Johnny’s doing with his life, but something about Johnny just commands his attention.

And suddenly dancing alone doesn’t seem powerful or fun, but sad and lonely.

Johnny’s head tilts upwards slightly, and he looks aimlessly around the party for a moment. His eyes fall to Taeyong himself, and the brief moment of eye contact they share, where Taeyong can see the uncloaked surprise, can see Johnny’s eyes move quickly up and down his body before he coughs and looks determinedly back at his group of friends is enough for Taeyong to make a quick, petty decision.

Taeyong knows well what made Johnny fall for him in the first place, all those years ago. He knows because Johnny never let him forget: his cute laugh, his smile, his passion, his belief that there’s good in everyone, his work ethic - the list went on; Johnny has always been a romantic at heart.

But Taeyong wants to show that he’s changed, that he’s grown up. That he’s not the boy with messy hair too shy to tell the class something fun about himself. He’s strong and he’s in control.

He tears his own eyes away from Johnny and surveys the crowd around him quickly, picks the best-looking boy who has been unsubtley checking him out for the better part of twenty minutes and fixes him with a look _. _

The boy, some guy in the year above Taeyong recognises from the football team (Chanyeol, maybe) runs a hand through his hair, the motion deliberate, and starts making his way towards Taeyong.

Taeyong doesn’t have to look to know that Johnny’s eyes are back on him, and something like triumph swells in his chest.

He’s mouthing along to the lyrics of the song which has thankfully morphed into something slower, more sensual, and he changes his dance accordingly, relishing in the lust in the Chanyeol’s eyes.

His hands find Taeyong’s waist and pull him flush against his chest. Taeyong goes pliantly, his hands coming to rest on his new partner’s shoulders. They sway together for a moment, eyes locked as they move in beat.

Taeyong chances one look away, finds numerous guys staring at the pair of them enviously, and he knows Johnny sees their stares, too.

Taeyong wants to make a statement. Wants to show Johnny that he’s wanted. It’s now or never, and Taeyong chooses now.

He surges forward kisses and Chanyeol.

It tastes of beer and vodka and it isn’t earth-shattering, but it’s clear this guy is experienced, the way he parts Taeyong’s lips easily with his tongue and Taeyong lets him. He feels Chanyeol’s arm curl tighter around his waist and brings up his own hands to thread roughly through Chanyeol’s hair.

They make out for a while, and Taeyong tries to lose himself in it, even if the side of his face is burning from the gaze he knows is directed there. Chanyeol loops a finger through Taeyong’s belt and pulls their hips together, the two of them letting out a synchronised hiss when their crotches touch.

They begin to grind against each other, and Taeyong begins to forget Johnny, begins to lose himself in his own desire and he uses his grip on Chanyeol’s hair to detach their mouths. Chanyeol looks confused at first, before Taeyong presses a quick kiss just beneath his jawline and leads him towards the exit.

A smirk spreads on Chanyeol’s face and they share another quick kiss on the edge of the dancefloor before making their way out.

Taeyong doesn’t have to look back to know that Johnny got his message.

 

**___**

 

They don’t interact. It’s a sort of unspoken agreement, Taeyong supposes.

Taeyong wants to pretend he doesn’t exist, pretend he’s still halfway across the world in Chicago, where he’s supposed to be. But Johnny is forever present, just in his peripheral. Like some looming shadow constantly in the corner of his mind.

So Taeyong does what he does best: he runs from his problems and hopes they will sort themselves out. He doesn’t listen to Night Night, though he tells Jaehyun that he does.

He loses himself in essays and music theory and production, pushing himself through writer’s block to at least create  _ something _ . His professor calls his composition  _ uninspired _ , and Taeyong can’t find it in himself to argue.

With Johnny’s sudden presence in his life, it feels as though the emotionally stable persona he’d been crafting is finally giving way to all the emotions he never really dealt with, just hid beneath things that kept his mind busy. His mind is thrown into tumult that he doesn’t want to try to organise, so he just doesn’t.

The statement he tried to make seems even pettier now but Taeyong doesn’t regret it. Instead, he’s thankful for the distance it put between himself and Johnny, thankful for the relief it gave him.

He pretends not to see Johnny, even when he’s right in front of him.

And maybe it’s immature, but it keeps his heart intact and his eyes dry, so he counts it as a win.

It’s still difficult to ignore Johnny, though. It always has been.

 

**___**

 

The first few weeks after the break up are probably the worst. Not in terms of everything, but in the sheer crushing weight of emotions that he doesn’t have time to deal with but infuse themselves with his every thought anyway.

He does his best to push them to the back of his mind, smother them with facts and figures he’s supposed to be memorising, but how do you forget the person you swore you’d always remember?

He tries.

He tries to forget all the stupid little things he knows about Johnny, even if he knows they’ll never truly leave.

Johnny’s birthday is replaced by the death dates of political figures; Johnny’s favourite colour is forgotten in favour of colour imagery in poetry analysis.

But the one thing about Johnny he can’t replace with equations and school work is that feeling in his chest. The all-consuming one that envelops him whenever Johnny’s near. Nothing can quite drown that out.

 

**___**

 

The worst thing is that, even if Taeyong claims to have changed, he knows that he hasn’t, not really, not where it matters, anyway.

The worst thing is that Johnny still recognises all the signs, where everyone else fails to. The worst thing is that even as Taeyong is pointedly ignoring him as all their friends hang out in a diner, Johnny can still tell that Taeyong’s a little detached, a little off.

Johnny notices that Taeyong only joins in the conversation when he’s directly spoken to, that his eyes drift off and become unfocused, that his hands play with the paper straw in his milkshake and his fries remain untouched.

Taeyong’s good at pretending, but not when it comes to Johnny.

It’s Johnny who follows him as he excuses himself, saying he needs to work on an essay - which he does. But he also needs to work on three songs and work his shift at the café and revise for his exam on Thursday and arrange a meeting for his group project and get Doyoung a birthday present and it’s all getting a little too much.

It’s Johnny who places a hand on his shoulder, and the solid weight of it is grounding, pulls him back from where his mind has flown off.

They don’t say anything, but Johnny takes Taeyong’s hands in his own, clasps them so they stop shaking and pulls him tight. Taeyong crumbles into his hold. It’s too familiar, as though no time has passed. As though they’re once again crouched on the floor of Taeyong’s bedroom.

Johnny smells the same, like chamomile body wash and the Calvin Klein aftershave he’s been using for forever because he insists on smelling ‘expensive’ but most of all he smells like  _ home. _

And just his physical presence, because he knows Taeyong doesn’t need words right now - knows that words would just add to the mess in his mind, is enough to pull Taeyong out of his own head and into Johnny’s arms, where he can’t help but feel he belongs.

The worst thing is, despite how they’ve been treating each other with cold shoulders and vacant glances, despite how much Taeyong tries to pretend Johnny isn’t a part of his life, the truth is that Johnny has been a part of his life since he was just ‘the tall boy with fluffy hair’.

The worst thing is that, despite how Taeyong’s been treating him, Johnny is still that kind-hearted, caring boy whom Taeyong fell for in his first year of high school like it was the most natural thing in the world, and that makes him cry even harder.

The worst thing is that nothing has changed but everything is different and it’s all confusing and stupid and exhausting and Taeyong doesn’t quite understand anything anymore.

 

**___**

 

That evening, sitting in the furthest corner of the library, surrounded by textbooks and with the phantom feeling of Johnny’s arms around him, Taeyong tunes into  _ Night Night _ .

Johnny’s voice stops him from being overwhelmed by his assignments.

Taeyong stops ignoring him.

 

**___**

 

They move in the same circles, so he gets invited to Johnny’s birthday party. Nothing obnoxious, a small get-together with a small group of friends. Taeyong knows everyone there and doesn’t feel compelled to dress up.

He wears a red hoodie, one he’s had since high school and throws on a pair of jeans. Doyoung says he looks cute with his hair down and in his eyes. Taeyong blushes and says he needs a haircut.

He isn’t sure what to get Johnny. Johnny has money and lives by the motto that if he wants it, he’ll get it.

Johnny’s spent the last week insisting that no one needs to get him anything, that all he wants is a celebration where everyone treats him like a king and no one’s mean to him.

Taeyong knows Johnny won’t expect a gift - especially not from him, not when they’ve only just become polite friends again - but it feels weird to show up to a party empty-handed. Yuta’s bringing a  _ Chicago Bulls _ baseball cap, just like the one he lost in their third year of high school and Doyoung’s got him a novelty camera keychain Taeyong knows Johnny won’t like but will put on his keys anyway.

No, Taeyong doesn’t want to show up and be the only one without a gift.

But he’s feeling wholly uninspired, scrolling through Amazon a few days before the party and finding nothing he really feels like Johnny would want.

It’s Doyoung who gives him an idea, as it so often is. Doyoung tells him to bake something. And maybe he has an ulterior motive in that he just wants cake but Taeyong’s thankful for the suggestion nonetheless.

He shows up to Johnny and Taeil’s apartment with a container stocked with brownies, and pretends his heart doesn’t flutter at the smile Johnny gives him upon seeing them.

“I’ve missed these.”

It’s the closest they’ve come to talking about their past, and it may seem flippant, but it fills Taeyong with an emotion he can’t name.

 

**___**

 

Something’s off with Johnny.

Yuta hasn’t noticed it, and Taeyong’s slightly worried that he’s just reading too far into things, as he so often does. 

But the way Johnny’s fingers run through his hair even more often than they usually do, or the slump in his shoulders during class, the way he forgets to shift to the left even though it’s been their routine for the last few months. It’s in the way he picks at his mother’s homemade Korean food during lunch, the way he won’t let Taeyong look at the result he got on their Korean test, the way he stares angrily at his phone when he thinks Taeyong isn’t looking.

Taeyong’s not sure what the problem is, is too scared to ask, doesn’t want to pry.

But the worries carry with him through the week, keep his eyes open at night. Johnny doesn’t deserve to be sad, not when he spends so much time helping others to be happy. But Taeyong isn’t good at talking or reassurance, so he settles for what he is good at: baking.

He sneaks down to the kitchen in the dead of night, praying he won’t wake his parents up when they both have work in the morning. He begins the recipe he knows by heart and soon enough a batch of brownies are cooling on his kitchen counter.

He takes them into school, carries them around in his bag all day until the final bell rings.

He drags Johnny to the roof, ignoring his protests. He isn’t entirely sure how to address the situation, doesn’t want to make things worse. So when he speaks, it’s in the softest voice he can manage.

“I noticed that you haven’t really been happy these past few days.”

Taeyong can see something like panic flash across Johnny’s face, and his mouth falls open. Taeyong shakes his head to silence the apology he knows is coming before it can tumble from his tongue.

“And I don’t want you to apologise; I just want to make sure you’re okay. You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, either, if you don’t want to.”

He takes the plastic container from his bag and thrusts it in Johnny’s face.

“My mum always says that sadness demands chocolate,” he says in way of an explanation at Johnny’s confused expression.

Johnny takes a few seconds to look between the container and Taeyong’s face before he rests his gaze into Taeyong’s eyes, a sombre smile stretching across his face, a depth to his eyes that Taeyong hasn’t seen before.

It’s two years later when Johnny tells Taeyong that this moment, with the sun setting behind them and casting angular shadows onto Taeyong’s earnest face is the moment that Johnny began to fall for him,  _ irrevocably, indelibly,  _ he describes it as.

“Thanks.”

Taeyong stays true to his word, doesn’t push for answers. They eat brownies side by side in comfortable silence until there’s only a few left.

I failed that Korean test,” Johnny finally says, and he’s not looking at Taeyong but somewhere beyond the trees that line the edge of playing field. “I’m losing my English, too, I think. I can’t understand a lot of what people say here and none of my American friends have texted me in ages. I guess I’m just not really sure who I am anymore, if I have a place, where I’m supposed to be from.”

It’s disconcerting, hearing Johnny unsure of himself. Johnny has almost become synonymous with stability in Taeyong’s mind and having him admit to being insecure tilts everything in Taeyong’s world slightly to the left. But there’s another, smaller part of him that’s grateful Johnny’s not always perfect, it makes him a little more human, a little more real.

“Korean’s difficult,” Taeyong says and Johnny snorts, like that wasn’t what he’d been expecting Taeyong to say. “English is even more difficult. And you speak both.”

Johnny tries to cut him off, no doubt with something self-deprecating, Taeyong doesn’t let him.

“You’re one of only two people in our year who can speak more than one language. You’re on the basketball team. You take really pretty pictures. You’re popular, even if you don’t understand what people say, they still want to talk to you and it’ll get easier the more you’re exposed to Korean. You’re funny and if you need help reading, then I’m always here. You don’t need to ‘have a place’, you just need to have a family. And you do.”

“I’m clearly not all that popular if the friends I’ve had since elementary don’t have time for me anymore.”

“Well fuck them, then,” Taeyong says, and Johnny laughs loudly because it’s the first time he’s ever heard Taeyong swear. Taeyong’s pride at making Johnny laugh diminishes his shame at cursing. “I’ll always have time for you. I promise.”

He sticks out his pinky.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Their fingers link and they go back to eating brownies.

 

**___**

 

Johnny hadn’t been lying when he told them his party would be a casual affair. The majority of the people there are dressed in sweatpants and jumpers and Taeyong blends right in as he slinks onto the sofa, tucking his feet beneath him.

They order pizza and he doesn’t want to make a fuss with his usual complicated order so he decides to settle for what everyone else is having, but a medium with his favourite toppings still ends up being delivered and placed into his hands by a smiling Johnny.

They drink wine and giggle and watch Johnny open his presents. Taeyong can tell he likes his present best, from the way he hides the brownies in the kitchen, ensures no one else will steal them.

They vote on a film because Johnny says, “I’m a king, not a dictator,” and they all laugh.

Somehow, Taeyong ends up next to Johnny on the sofa and he can’t concentrate on the film because all he can think about is Johnny’s warmth and how inviting it feels but he’s not sure if they’re there yet, if that’s acceptable.

Sure, they’re friends now, but they’ve spent the last few weeks dancing around both each other and the elephant that’s constantly in the room.

About halfway through the movie tiredness begins to pull at Taeyong’s consciousness, spurred on by the single glass of wine he’s been sipping at for the last two hours. And he stops caring about the implications and whether ‘they’re there’ and finds himself drifting to his left, moulding easily into Johnny’s side, losing himself in the warmth he finds there.

He lets his eyes slip shut when he feels a hand rest gently on his waist and pretends he can’t hear Johnny’s hammering heart.

When he wakes up again, a different film is on the TV and Johnny’s hand is carding through his hair. Taeyong doesn’t want to move, can’t find a reason to so he doesn’t. Lets Johnny lull him back to sleep, his mind, for once, blank.

 

**___**

 

Taeyong tags along with Jaehyun and Doyoung to see the photography department’s exhibition.

It’s set up in the auditorium, with rows upon rows of boards standing up all through the space of the hall, mounted with photographs developed by the students. It’s a showcase of sorts, a display of the talent present in their school and Taeyong, the auditory artist, is always awed by the stunning visual masterpieces they create.

Taeyong walks slowly through the rows, losing his friends along the way as he takes the time to truly marvel at each photo that captures his attention. He finds himself feeling more inspired than he has for weeks, as soundtracks compose themselves in his ears as he gazes upon the beautiful pictures. Notes fall into place to match the aesthetics he witnesses and he can’t help the smile that takes over his face.

He doesn’t let the students go forgotten, of course. And each time he is taken by a photograph he makes sure to congratulate and thank the student who made it possible, ask them about their process and loves the way they all become so excitable when they speak about their passion.

He’s nearly reached the end when he stumbles upon a collection that genuinely takes his breath away.

His eyes move slowly from frame to frame, arranged in such a way that the eyes move across the board in a natural sweeping motion despite the wide variety of subjects of the photos.

They change from wide, profound landscape shots to close-ups of the corner of a person’s eye, lined with burgundy to blurry, unedited photos of a cluster of photo frames. They’re all printed on different sized materials, some on canvas, some simple polaroids. It’s a collage of organised chaos, messy but beautiful.

It’s entitled _The_ _Extraordinary Everyday_.

But the one that leaves Taeyong motionless, stopped in his tracks even as people bump into him from behind and complain loudly, is the centrepiece.

A square sheet of normal photo paper, and underneath it is a crinkled sheet of lined paper, clearly ripped from a notebook.

The photo is the only urban-set one in the collection and presents a shot from the ground, from the middle of the road as cars streak past the camera. The neon lights of the city are nothing more than lines dancing in a luminous rainbow around the photo. The objects of the city - the buildings, the cars - are visible, but dark and secondary. The lights take centre stage, bewitching and entrancing.

Taeyong stares at the photo for too long, but it’s the caption written in a tidy scrawl on the paper beneath it that hits him.

And, as he reads it, a song comes into his head, fully formed.

Because he’s already written that song. Already written those lyrics.

_ It’s so beautiful, dyed in starlight. The lights shine all night long in the city. _

 

**___**

 

Johnny and Taeyong are slumped on Johnny’s bed. Taeyong is reclined back into Johnny, sat between his legs. Johnny is busy weaving tiny braids into the too-long hair at the back of Taeyong’s neck, and Taeyong taps a pencil against the blank page of a leather-bound notebook - his first songwriting notebook, courtesy of Johnny.

Taeyong had protested against the gift, given to him without occasion and too expensive for him to deserve it. But Johnny had silenced his qualms with a kiss Taeyong had melted into, the relationship too new for him to be able to keep his wits afterwards, his mind too flustered to raise any decent argument.

He’s kept it in pristine condition, refusing to tarnish one of the most valuable things he owns - in terms of both monetary and personal value.

Johnny had laughed at the way he’d hidden it under his jacket and run home from school the day it had rained, but still shrugged off his own coat to hold above the both of them.

Taeyong wants to write Johnny a song. Wants to give him something special and intimate, something straight from the heart. He can’t buy something for Johnny with the same worth as what Johnny gave him, so he’ll offer up his soul instead, bare it open for Johnny and Johnny alone.

Truthfully, he has countless melodies and verses written for Johnny, about Johnny but they’re not good enough for him. Johnny deserves the world and Taeyong wants to give it to him in the only way he knows how.

And sitting on Johnny’s bed, the world dark and quiet outside, Johnny’s parents on a work trip and three weeks into their relationship, all he can think of is that day three weeks ago.

He stops trying to be poetic and just writes down his truest feelings, because he trusts that what he feels for Johnny is elegant enough without trying, as is the very nature of Johnny.

_ You’re so beautiful, dyed in starlight. _

Johnny reads the words aloud, hooking his chin over Taeyong’s shoulder. Taeyong turns to meet his eyes and can’t help but stare, a little dazed, for a moment, as though he can’t believe his luck.

_ Time stops when you look at me. _

Because it does.

_ We’ll travel above the sky and ocean. _

A promise Johnny made him when his life felt static, and his mind devoid of inspiration. He feels Johnny smile into the exposed skin of his shoulder as he reads the words.

“Help me make a melody for it?” Taeyong whispers.

_ We can make our own light; look at our sparks fly. _

“Of course, my love.”

Johnny kisses him, chaste but passionate before leading him downstairs and to the grand piano situated in the living room.

They sit next to each other on the wooden piano bench, and Taeyong presses himself in Johnny’s side.

“What kind of tune were you thinking, Yong?”

And Taeyong, usually so self-conscious about his voice, opens his mouth and sings the lyrics he’s written to the melody flitting around his head. Johnny stares at him with reverence as he does so, as though he’s lost in Taeyong’s voice the same way Taeyong gets lost in Johnny’s.

When he’s finished, Johnny tries to replicate it on the piano and before long the room is filled with light laughter and tender melodies. They stay there the entire night, huddled close. And Taeyong doesn’t get to write a song for Johnny, but they both get to write one for  _ them _ , and maybe that’s better.

_ We dream together in this city. _

 

**___**

 

Taeyong heads straight home from the photography exhibition.

He flings open the third drawer of his dresser, stuffed full of notebooks stacked neatly on top of each other. He always receives at least three notebooks every birthday and Christmas, and they’re the one thing he can’t seem to stop himself buying whenever he spots one that looks pretty. They’re one thing he allows himself to splurge on.

He keeps every single notebook he’s ever had, every single notebook he’s ever filled in this draw because you never know when an old song might have potential again.

He digs through the abundance of notebooks, for the first time not caring about keeping the piles ordered, too focused on the one he searches from.

He finds it, at the very back, at the very bottom of the pile. A worn, leather-bound notebook.

He doesn’t open it, for he knows he’ll be overcome with emotion when he does, so he places it carefully in his bag, along with his headphones, laptop, pencil, and current notebook.

He arrives at the on-campus recording studio and calls in a favour with the girl working the desk to let him use an empty room. Once in there, he quickly sets up and sits comfortably down on the chair in the centre.

With care, far more than he uses with any of his other notebooks, Taeyong opens his first one and the first page sends him back into the moment he wrote it. It’s the first verse he ever wrote, one he later adapted into a full song, but here it is, in all its sloppy, unrhythmic glory, scrawled onto yellowing paper in fading pencil.

He flicks methodically through the pages, nostalgia pulling his tongue into different shapes as he mouths along to tunes he wrote aeons ago.

When he finally reaches the page he was looking for, sentimentality floods his being and he thumbs gently over the letters, as though they might be erased if he presses against them too hard.

He’s tucked a few pages of sheet music into the book here, too. He reads through them and can’t help but smile at the simple melody. There’s a part of him that’s still scared about opening this door to the past, scared about what might fall out. But Johnny was the one who unlocked it, and Taeyong just has to believe that he was right to do so.

It’s easier to believe in him than it should be.

Taeyong sets about re-writing. He organises the lyrics into something more coherent, something more narrative. The song has a lot of changes in it but when Taeyong thinks back to the night that inspired it, it seems fitting. He takes the simple melody and adds chords, percussion, a whistled tune in the background.

It’s not just a story-telling song now; it’s atmospheric. Taeyong feels like he can close his eyes and be taken back to the night it recounts, can feel the city build around him, feel himself dissolve in his memories.

 

**___**

 

They take the train from the suburbs right into the heart of Seoul.

It’s Taeyong’s first time going up to the city without his parents, so he’s nervous but not scared because Johnny’s with him so nothing bad could possibly happen.

Taeyong spends the journey with his face pressed against the glass of the window, marvelling at the way countryside morphs into an urban landscape. He watches how the buildings grow taller and green turns to grey, how rivers turn to highways.

Johnny just watches Taeyong.

They go to as many places as they can. Johnny insists on taking photos of Taeyong absolutely everywhere: posing next to mannequins at clothes shops, sitting on a bench eating ice cream despite how it’s mid-winter because nothing gets in the way of Taeyong and his sweets. He takes photos of Taeyong trying to figure out the which bus they need to take, next to Han river, and in every single one of the many bakeries they visit.

Johnny insists on paying for everything, and Taeyong fights him for it every time. But somehow he manages to lose every game of rock-paper-scissors they play, much to Johnny’s delight.

They treck around so much of Seoul, but Taeyong’s feet don’t ache for a second as he takes in the sights, feels the city come to life around him as the sun sinks beneath the horizon.

He and Johnny stand on a bridge over the river, looking around at the way the city lights up to counteract the darkness. There’s never really blackness, as skyscrapers illuminate and billboards glow neon. Taeyong tracks the movements of the countless vehicles with his eyes, loving the way the lights they produce stay in the air for a few moments after they’ve passed before they’re swallowed by the next car.

He wants Johnny to see it too, take a picture of it so he will never forget this beautiful image, but when he turns to look at Johnny, Johnny is not looking at the lights at all, but rather at him.

Taeyong’s words die on his tongue and he returns the look, focusing instead on the way the luminous lights paint Johnny’s face, mixing with the shadows created by Johnny’s prominent features to make him seem surreal, a painting come to life. Starlight blends with artificial, harsher light to give a beautiful contrast. In this moment, Johnny is the city and everything it entails.

“Taeyong,” Johnny says, and his voice has an uncharacteristic wobble that puts Taeyong on edge. “Taeyong... I like you. Like, as more than a friend.”

Silence falls, and the noise of the city they had seemed to be part of a moment ago wanes into the distance.

Taeyong’s mind is working too slowly, too shocked at the thought that Suh Johnny, his best friend, the popular, carefree, confident boy with so many options could possibly choose  _ him _ .

Taeyong has long resigned himself to living with his feelings unrequited, satisfied to stay by Johnny’s side as his friend and nothing more. Taeyong, who had long fallen for the charms of the boy with the toothy smile and bright laugh and tight hugs and stupid jokes, who had pined and longed now stands atop a bridge, surrounded by the most beautiful views he has ever seen, being confessed to by the most beautiful boy he has ever seen.

It feels unreal. His heart seems to stop beating, pauses in his chest just like the rest of the world does around him.

And the time it takes for Taeyong to fully comprehend what’s happening is long and silent. It’s enough for Johnny to misunderstand, to take it the wrong way and panic to bleed into his features.

The apology falling from Johnny’s lips is enough to jolt Taeyong back into reality, and the city snaps back into full swing around him as he surges forward, arms wrapping themselves easily around Johnny’s neck and head falling into the crook of his neck.

“I like you, too,” he murmurs, and he feels Johnny’s body relax, arms coming to wrap around his waist. “I’ve liked you for a really long time.”

“Me too, Yongie. God, me too.”

The city moves around them as they remain still.

 

**___**

 

**To: Johnny [22:33]**

come to studio g? need your help on a song

 

Johnny’s surprised when he arrives at the studio, that much is clear. But he becomes less so once he sees what song it is Taeyong’s working on.

“I take it you came to the exhibit today?” he says as he sits down behind the glass.

“Your photos were beautiful.” Taeyong’s tone is earnest, raw in its honesty and he knows he’s not imagining the way Johnny’s ears turn pink. “Truly, I almost couldn’t stop looking at them.”

“I’m sorry I took your lyrics,” Johnny starts.

“They’re just as much yours as they are mine.”

Johnny plays the sheet music he’s been given dutifully, fingers gracing along the keys of the keyboard in the studio with finesse. He conveys the emotion Taeyong felt when he wrote the notes with such ease that Taeyong is struck by the stark truth of the words he’d said mere moments prior, remembers he wasn’t alone on that bridge.

Johnny sings, too.

Says the English parts of the songs with a native speaker’s tongue, adds a smooth cadence above Taeyong’s more rough one.

It sounds good. It sounds like the city.

They listen to it back and they both close their eyes. Taeyong knows, without a single word being said, that Johnny is in the same place he is now, that they are reliving the same moment. It brings an unfamiliar, but not unwelcome feeling to his chest.

The song finishes and they both applaud softly.

“ _ City 127 _ ,” Johnny reads, “remember why we named it that?”

How could Taeyong forget?

“December seventh, in the centre of Seoul,” he says, his voice wistful, far away. “You asked me to be your boyfriend.”

“And you said yes.”

Silence takes over the studio, but it’s not uncomfortable and they’re both smiling.

Taeyong chances a look at Johnny, finds him staring down at the floor, his eyes crinkled in happiness and lips upturned. His lips, lush and perfect, parted in joy as a silent laugh escapes them.

And Taeyong can’t stop staring.

 

**___**

 

They’re sat at Taeyong’s kitchen table, both his parents are at work, his sister’s with her boyfriend so the house is quiet.

Taeyong has a pen in his hand and he’s staring resolutely at the physics homework in front of him. He’s willing himself to do it, or trying to, at least. But they seem boring and complicated and spending time with Johnny is fun and easy, so his mind keeps wandering to the boy sat to his side, flicking through previews on his camera.

Taeyong sets his pen down, resigning himself to the fact that he’s just not going to do it right now and turning to look - properly look - at his boyfriend.

Johnny doesn’t notice, too captivated by whatever he’s looking at on his camera. Something at the back of Taeyong’s mind hopes they’re photos of him.

Johnny’s looking down, a soft smile on his soft lips and eyes almost closed with happiness. It’s a heart-warming sight, Taeyong thinks. And he can’t stop staring.

“Johnny.”

Johnny hums, but he doesn’t look up until he realises that Taeyong hasn’t continued.

“May I kiss you?”

Johnny looks shocked for a second before his smile’s back on his face, even brighter than it was earlier.

“Of course,” he says, a grin playing on his lips.

Taeyong’s heart is thumping in his ears and he doesn’t know what to do with himself as he leans forward. But Johnny does, because he always does.

Johnny’s fingers caress the side of Taeyong’s cheek and pull their faces closer together. His fingers are soft and Taeyong leans into the touch as Johnny’s face draws closer. Taeyong’s eyes flutter shut a second after Johnny’s do and his own hand comes up to gingerly frame Johnny’s face.

Their lips touch for the first time and it’s short and it’s chaste but Taeyong finds himself giddy anyway.

Johnny reflects some of that happiness back in his eyes in the brief moment they lock eyes before they’re pushing forward again, letting their lips meet again.

It’s slow, because they’re young and still trying to figure stuff out but their lips move in a steady rhythm, relaxed and languid. Their kisses feel somewhat idle - aimless because they have all the time in the world. There’s no rush or hurry and everything is calm in Taeyong’s mind, even as his heart beats dangerously in his chest.

They break away from it a little breathless, faces very red.

“Wow,” Taeyong says and Johnny’s laugh only gets louder the more Taeyong tells him to shut up.

 

**___**

 

Johnny’s lost in his memories - their memories - so he doesn’t notice Taeyong stand up, doesn’t notice him move across the studio. Johnny only looks up, eyes questioning, when Taeyong is standing right in front of him.

Taeyong’s lips are on Johnny’s before he can start to speak and Johnny is still only for a second before he responds in fervour. Taeyong falls ungracefully so he’s sitting in Johnny’s lap, one arm slung over Johnny’s shoulder and the other one fisting tightly at his hair. Johnny’s hands move to hold Taeyong’s waist in place, fingers pressing into the exposed skin as his shirt rides up.

Taeyong’s eyes are closed and all he can think about, all he can feel, is Johnny.

Johnny’s tongue against his; Johnny’s chest flush against his; Johnny’s legs under his; Johnny’s hair woven between his fingers, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny.

They’re both far more confident than they used to be, but it’s less remarkable than it was. There’s something desperate about the way that they kiss, about the way they cling to each other. It’s as though they’re making up for lost time, or worried that they’ll be separated again.

They kiss angrily, messily, with little care for technique but it feels good anyway. Because it’s them and they don't need to be careful, they just need each other.

They finally break apart, panting heavily.

“I missed you,” Taeyong manages to say, and it’s the first time he’s been able to say that out loud, the first time he’s alluded to the elephant they’ve both been ignoring.

“I can tell,” Johnny says, though he’s breathing just as heavily as Taeyong is, and his hair is far more dishevelled.

Taeyong leans his forehead against Johnny’s collarbone, settling into a more comfortable position on his lap. The chair really wasn’t made to support two, but Taeyong just wants Johnny close, doesn’t care about the practicality of it.

“I missed you, too,” Johnny says after a little while. His voice is weaker and Taeyong presses a kiss to his pulse point in acknowledgement. Johnny lets out a short whine.

“Why are you back?”

“Mum got transferred again,” Johnny tells him, even though Taeyong isn’t quite sure what made him leave Korea in the first place, never really asked.

“How long are you here for?” Taeyong’s pressing rows of kisses along the column of Johnny’s neck now.

“Indefinitely. But mum and dad reckon we’ll be here a while. Even if they leave, I’d probably stay to finish uni, though. I’m an adult now so it’s not like I have to follow them around anymore.”

Johnny gasps as Taeyong’s teeth graze over a particularly sensitive part of his throat.

“And you’d tell me if you were leaving this time?” Taeyong says between kisses, voice more bitter than perhaps he intended. “Because you haven’t exactly got the greatest track record when it comes to leaving me in the dark.”

“Okay, no,” Johnny says, and there’s anger in his voice now.

He uses the hand threaded through the hair at the back of Taeyong’s head to pull him away from his neck.

And, just like that, the elephant has transformed into a bull, charging around a china shop.

“We’re not having this argument again. We had it once and-”

“And it broke us up,” Taeyong finishes for him, matching Johnny’s anger in kind. “Actually - wait - no it didn’t.  _ You  _ broke us up. You shook your head and we were done. No warning, no chance for us to try and save it because  _ you _ didn’t think we could survive long distance.”

“We barely survived short distance!”

Taeyong stands up, putting space between them.

“We would have been fine if you’d just been a little patient, and understanding and waited until summer-”

“Oh shut the fuck up about summer Taeyong.” Johnny gets to his feet now, too. “You’re not some delusional high schooler anymore, summer was just your excuse so you could procrastinate your emotions - procrastinate our relationship. And I wasn’t willing to always be an afterthought for you.”

“You were never an afterthought, Johnny. You were the reason I put so much hope in summer. I just needed to get exams out of the way so we could spend time together. It’s not my fault you couldn’t wait.”

“You were obsessive, Taeyong. It was painful, seeing you like that. You had the worst tunnel vision I’ve ever seen and, honestly, it was scary.”

“I’m not apologising for caring about my education, Johnny.”

“It was so far beyond just caring, Tae. I was worried about you. I-”

“Yeah, so worried that you moved to a different country. I can really feel your concern.”

Taeyong crosses his arms over his chest, watched with a sick satisfaction as disbelief and hurt crosses Johnny’s face.

“Fuck you, Taeyong,” he says finally. “You clearly haven’t changed. You’re still immature, obsessive, and delusional.”

Johnny stalks out, the falling shut ungracefully behind him. The loud noise it makes is enough to pull Taeyong from his reverie, where he’d been staring at the space Johnny had occupied just moments prior.

He falls back into his own chair, flopping into it and letting is support him.

His mind is in pandemonium. He’s repeating the last few minutes in his head, turning over each word in his mind. He’s picking apart each word and feeling each one Johnny used against him go straight to his chest like a blunt force.

Tears prick at his eyes, but they don’t fall. They gather and they burn, but they don’t fall.

 

**___**

 

They’re back to square one.

They ignore each other, and let off distinct vibes of anger whenever forced to be in the other’s presence which, thankfully, isn’t much.

Their friends are all walking on eggshells around them and as much as Taeyong assures them that he’s fine, that they don’t have to trouble themselves so much, they still treat him like he’s a bomb about to explode if they say the wrong word.

It’s only a half-lie, because, if anything, he’s most likely to implode, to slowly collapse inwards. It’s difficult not to when whenever he sees Johnny, all he feels is the strange battle between the emotions left after that night in the studio. He feels the anger and sadness in his chest contest the lingering feeling of Johnny’s lips against his.

Doyoung and Ten, somewhat luckily, are not the most tactful people in the world - are quite possibly the bluntest - and do not allow him the courtesy of wallowing.

They push him to talk and he does. He tells them everything, partly because they’re persistent and partly because he just wants someone to tell him what to do, wants someone to know and understand how he feels because he can’t quite do it alone.

They are, for once, quite careful in their approach with him, hesitant with their words but harsh enough that Taeyong knows he’s not being lied to. They let him stay in bed for perhaps longer than he should, turn a blind eye to his lack of productivity but they still force him to talk.

Talking isn’t something Taeyong’s particularly good at - especially when it’s about him and how he’s feeling - but he manages when it’s them.

Taeyong always leaves the dorm whenever Doyoung listens to  _ Night Night _ .

 

**___**

 

Taeyong gets lost in his memories, most days.

Whether he’s walking through campus, or in a lecture, or lying in bed, he finds himself reminiscing.

Whether they’re years ago from high school, or from last week, he finds them piling up at the forefront of his mind. And no matter when they’re from, every single one involves Johnny. Without fail.

 

**___**

 

Taeyong’s trying as hard as he possibly can to stare at the textbook in on his lap and ignore the incessant tapping at his shoulder, the petulant whine in his ear. It’s difficult, though, when his boyfriend commands his attention by nature. The words he’s looking at don’t really mean much anymore, but he remains with his eyes fixed to them out of principle, more than anything.

Johnny places his chin into the crook of Taeyong’s neck, so his lips are pressed against the skin there. He digs his chin into the bone of Taeyong’s shoulder when he speaks, but Taeyong is too distracted by the hot breath on his neck to care about the slight pain.

“Please. I got us tickets to this photo exhibition in Seoul. We could go out to dinner, walk down the river, look at the lights.”

Johnny’s voice is tired, beneath the childish tone he’s using, undoubtedly to try to make Taeyong smile.

“Please~” he drags out his words, “one day off won’t kill you, Yong.”

Taeyong pulls his eyes away from the book, finally. Johnny tilts his head up and their lips join together in a leisurely kiss. Even after almost three years, Taeyong can’t help the stutter his heart gives out whenever they kiss.

He tries his best to convey his apology through the kiss, because he’s not sure if his words will quite be able to capture the severity of it.

Johnny understands, as he always does, and he pulls away, sitting up straighter.

“I’m really sorry, Johnny,” he tries, and he sees the pain in his chest reflected in Johnny’s eyes as he confirms what Johnny had definitely already known. “But we’ve got our first exam next week, and  I feel really unprepared for it.”

“But you’re not, Yong,” Johnny sighs.

“But I feel like I am.” Taeyong can hear the vulnerability in his own voice, but doesn’t try to hide it. Not in front of Johnny. Never tries to hide from Johnny. “I’m so scared that I’ll sit down in the exam hall and my mind will just go blank. Like, realistically, I know I’ve learnt what I need to. But I’m so worried I won’t be able to get it when I need to. And if I don’t do well in these exams, then I’m not really sure what else I have.”

A mix of heartbreak and disappointment flits across Johnny’s features before he schools it into something more sympathetic, though Taeyong can still make traces of exhaustion behind it. 

“You can still go, though,” Taeyong says, an attempt to spare Johnny from any more sadness. “You can take Yuta. Have fun for me.”

“I’d rather have fun  _ with  _ you.”

Johnny wraps his arms around Taeyong, dips his head back onto his shoulder.

Taeyong pats the top of Johnny’s head, playing with the soft strands of hair.

“We’ll have fun together in summer. We’ll do whatever you want then, I promise.”

He pretends he doesn’t hear Johnny sigh.

 

**___**

 

After a few weeks, Doyoung has apparently had enough.

He rips the covers off of Taeyong’s head and fixes him with a hard enough glare that Taeyong knows what’s coming. Taeyong makes a futile attempt to hide beneath his blanket again, but Doyoung stops him easily.

Taeyong’s prepared for a dressing-down of sorts, the kind he’s come to expect from Doyoung over the years. So when he’s met with a tone gentler than he thinks he’s ever heard Doyoung use before, it comes as a shock.

“Yongie, this needs to stop. You need to talk to him because carrying on this way is just gonna fuck you both over. I’m not saying you’ll talk and everything will be fine because, honestly, your issues go deeper than just Johnny and I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again that I think you need to speak to a professional.”

And he has. He and Ten both. Taeyong doesn’t want to, though. Doesn’t want to spend the money so he can have some counsellor tell him he has unhealthy thinking habits when he knows that well enough for himself.

“But you need to get closure from him. You need to get closure for the last three years.”

Taeyong doesn’t reply, doesn’t want to acknowledge the truth in his friend’s words. He wants to avoid Johnny and his own feelings as much as possible. He’s too scared to face them right now.

“And don’t give me that ‘I’ll do it eventually’ bullshit, because we both know you won’t,” Doyoung says, sounding much more like his usual self.

Taeyong hates how well he knows him.

Taeyong lets the silence drag on between them, until Doyoung lets out an exasperated huff.

“If you’re too scared to actually talk to him, at least listen to  _ Night Night. _ Treat it as preparation. Besides, Jae’s sad you haven’t been tuning in recently.”

Doyoung leaves the dorm, no doubt tired of Taeyong and his self-pity. Taeyong doesn’t blame him, he’s quite tired of it himself.

And, though he’d never admit it out loud, Doyoung’s right - he usually is.

Taeyong takes his radio from where it’s been collecting dust on one of his shelves, sets it up and turns the dial to the right frequency just in time to hear the opening.

“ _ NCT Night Night _ : Neo Culture Tech.’s leading-”

“Only.”

“ _ Leading _ goodnight radio show.”

Johnny and Jaehyun laugh, soft and good-natured but Taeyong can’t bring himself to join them, too entranced by Johnny’s voice and how it washes over him like a calming wave.

He pulls his blankets tight around his shoulders, bundles himself up warmly and allows himself to fall into the smooth cadence of Johnny’s voice and forget his anger for a moment.

 

They’re at the end of the broadcast, Johnny and Jaehyun thanking their listeners for spending the night with them, and about to introduce the song that will play them out.

It’s been an emotional last hour for Taeyong, tears drying at the corners of his eyes that he hasn’t found the energy to wipe away. A strange, dulled feeling sits in his stomach, not happy but not quite sad either. His hands are shaking slightly but he’s not sure why.

“So this last song is a very special one for me,” Johnny’s saying. And his words are careful, like he’s weighing each one in his mind before he speaks it out loud. “It reminds me of a few times in my life, some of them good, some of them horrible and it’s a song I find myself turning to whenever I need comfort. It’s a song that I feel more than I hear. It’s a song of memories, and I really hope you all find as much solace in it as I do. It’s  _ City 127,  _ by myself and NCT’s own Lee Taeyong.”

Johnny’s voice starts playing through the radio, singing words Taeyong knows all too well and Taeyong can’t stop the tears that start to fall.

It only takes a second of deliberation because, now, he’s following his feelings - his base instincts - instead of his brain and that makes the decision far too easy.

He’s on his feet in moments, his blanket discarded to the floor. He only briefly pauses to pull a hoodie over his head before his hand’s on the door.

Because he’s tired of waiting and pushing everything to a later date. As the door swings shut behind him, he catches one more line of the song.

_ Now, our story. _

 

**___**

 

Taeyong doesn’t have a car. He convinced his parents to take the money they’d been saving up to buy him one and spend it on a two-week holiday to Jeju Island instead. He doesn’t regret it, not when Seoul’s public transport system is so efficient it negates the need for one. Besides, his friends all drive if he ever really needs to take a car somewhere.

But right now, running across campus, because the radio studio is on the other side of the university completely, he thinks that one might be handy.

He eats too many sweets to be able to run long distances easily, but somehow powers through with sheer will power.

He makes it to the studio just in time to see Jaehyun slide into his car. Jaehyun gives him a knowing look, an encouraging smile before he takes off, leaving Taeyong standing by himself outside the studio’s doors.

He isn’t quite sure what to do with himself for a moment, his body feeling awkward. He settles on stuffing his hands in his pockets while he catches his breath. Now that some of the adrenaline has worn off, he isn’t quite sure what he is going to say.

He isn’t given time to sort it out though, as Johnny exits the building, looking as effortlessly beautiful as always. Johnny catches his eye and looks surprised, but not annoyed.

“Hey,” Taeyong breathes.

“Hey.”

“Can we talk? Actually talk, I mean. Not fight.”

“Sure,” Johnny says, tone forcefully light.

They walk in silence to a late-night café. Taeyong orders a hot chocolate and Johnny gets an Americano. Johnny pays. Taeyong doesn’t want to start their talk with an argument about it, and he doesn’t have his wallet anyway, so he lets him.

They sit in the back corner of the café and Taeyong fiddles with the lid of his cup. The café isn’t empty, but the other patrons are mostly studying or reading so it’s quiet.

“I listened to the show tonight.”

If it’s not what Johnny was expecting him to say, he doesn’t show it.

“I enjoyed it, your voice is really nice.” A deep breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you enough time when we were together. I promised that I’d always have time for you but then I never did because I was so fixated on my grades. I was a shitty boyfriend and I’m sorry. You deserved a lot more than I gave you and I’m sorry that I couldn’t give you that.”

Johnny closes his eyes, something solemn washing over his features.

“You weren’t a shitty boyfriend, Yong. I mean, you weren’t  _ great  _ but you were never bad. I never regretted being with you and I still don’t.”

He opens his eyes then, makes sure Taeyong can see all the truth in them when he says, “I’m sorry, too. I should have told you I was leaving. I shouldn’t have ended things like that. I was too upset to think about helping you through something when you needed support.”

Taeyong shakes his head.

“That’s not your job. I couldn’t take care of myself and I was in a bad place and, as much as I wanted to be with you because I liked you so, so much, I wasn’t ready for a relationship. I needed to become my own person before I could become someone else’s.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Johnny’s hand reaches out to cover Taeyong’s.

“Then I forgive you.”

“I forgive you, too.”

 

**___**

 

“Johnny! Johnny! Johnny!”

And suddenly Taeyong’s barreling into Johnny’s back. Johnny turns around, steadies Taeyong on his feet, an amused expression on his face.

His grin grows to match Taeyong’s, even if he’s a little confused as Taeyong begins waving his phone in front of his face.

“I got in!” Taeyong near shrieks, excitement bubbling through his body. “I got the scholarship offer for Neo Culture Tech.!”

When the words register, Johnny’s eyes widen exponentially and he pulls Taeyong into a bone-crushing hug. They jump up and down together for a while, letting out nonsensical noises of happiness periodically.

“I knew you could do it. Oh, Yongie, I’m so proud of you,” Johnny whispers in his ear.

Taeyong pulls back from the hug to look Johnny in the eyes, knows that he’s mirroring the expression of pure bliss Johnny has on his face.

“I just have to get the grades and I can go. We can go. Together. The two of us, just like we planned.”

“You’ll get them. We’ll go.”

“I’ll have to work harder, though. I really need those grades.”

“You’re the smartest person I know, Yongie. But if you need to spend time studying so we can go together, I’ll stay by your side. I’d never leave you.”

“You might distract me, though,” Taeyong says cheekily.

“Well, it’s hardly my fault I was born so gorgeous. But if you need to concentrate and I’m too distracting, it’s fine. We’ll have all summer and the rest of our lives to spend together. I can wait.”

Taeyong’s heart warms, fills with something he thinks he can name, though doesn’t dare to speak it out loud.

Instead, he surges forward, seals their lips in an open-mouthed kiss. It tastes like summer.

  
  


**___**

 

“Thank you,” Taeyong says again, shutting the door to his counsellor's office and turning to find Johnny sitting on one of the sofas, waiting for him.

They fall into place beside each other, Johnny slotting his arm over Taeyong’s shoulder with practised ease.

“Everything good?” he asks.

“Getting better.”

They walk in silence for a bit, relishing in each other’s presence that had been absent from their lives for so long, but had fallen back into place.

They pause when they reach the edge of the campus’ field and look out over at the sunset.

Taeyong turns his head to take Johnny in, bathed in sunlight. He feels that same warm feeling spread gently in his chest, but he’s not afraid to name it now, not afraid to say it out loud.

_ Love _ .

Johnny turns to look at him too, and leans down, catching Taeyong’s lips in a chaste kiss that they both smile into, but takes his breath away nonetheless.

“Ready for summer?” Johnny asks against his lips.

“Ready for now.”

**Author's Note:**

> wow okay so sorry for the cheesy ending, and it probably seems rushed but thats because it is
> 
> ill probably come back to this and make it better when i have time which will be, ironically, when summer comes (told you i was projecting)
> 
> if you somehow made it through this mess thank you very much!!  
> please validate me making stupid decisions about my education by leaving kudos and comments, they're massively appreciated
> 
> thanks again  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/whatisanult)  
> [CC](https://curiouscat.me/whatisanult)


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